Against Stoicism: The Quit That Worked
Nobody starts out wanting an addiction. Life happens though, and the injured will always seek a crutch. My injury was getting hit with psychosis. During that living hell, I lit my first cigarette. Those smooth, calming godsends helped me get through a lot. One day they were going to kill me.
The Stoics view desire as something within our control, and intense emotions as bad. They advocate for self-discipline as a virtue to stand against that which would tear us down.
This sounds great — and I hear that it’s working miracles in conversion therapy.
For those who have never battled addiction before, it feels like someone or something is dragging you by the collar. For anyone who can remember their first true love, and all the crazed infatuation that came with the territory — that’s what addiction feels like during a quit attempt.
I lost track of how many times I tried to quit. I did successfully switch from smoking to using nicotine lozenges via the self-discipline route, but I wasn’t having any luck breaking up with nicotine.
I had a cat at the time. She was getting old and had a respiratory condition that was becoming resistant to medication. Eventually, the medication completely stopped working. Her quality of life evaporated.
I remember driving her to the vet with my significant other. One last trip.
I had finished crying by the time we got home.
I don’t believe in the whole “everything happens for a reason” mantra that a lot of other people profess. That said, when something does happen, we as human beings personally have the power to give it meaning. To make it count.
Alright cat, one more try. For you, for me, for not wanting to die of cancer.
For freedom.
There was no “final” ritual cigarette or lozenge or whatever. I got home, went through the “are you sure?” conversation in my head, and threw out the lozenges. I went on a lot of walks and I avoided gas stations like the plague.
The feeling of being manhandled lasted about a week. A full week fighting against whatever quasi-religious name you want to call addiction. I wasn’t going to win a head-on fight, so I did what I could to keep busy and leverage distraction. That evened the odds.
The next week felt like wrestling someone. It felt like a more even fight. I almost slipped up here by drinking some beer — big no-no when trying to quit nicotine. The two substances pair together way too well.
It was around the end of the second week or early in the third that this fever finally broke.
Now, for the rest of my life, I face the passing temptation. Probably once or twice a week.
Years have passed at this point. Fresh cigarette smoke still smells good to me. I still have the fond memories of sitting on my patio on crisp spring mornings with an espresso in one hand and the freshly lit menthol cigarette in the other. I have enough internal honesty and self-awareness to know that, while some people can overcome addiction and then be able to moderately use again, I am not one of those people. My fear of having to relive that fight again is the root of my success. It’s not all fear though, I also happen to love my present freedom.
My victory was not the product of stoicism — self-discipline had failed me time and time again. What worked for me was working with my emotions rather than against them or for them.
For anyone reading this in a fight of their own, you can do it. You can win.
